


Wintertime Contemplations on the Power of Love on the Occasion of the Holidays

by StarlightOnInk



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Hetalia, M/M, RusAme, RusAme Secret Santa 2014, Winter
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-18
Updated: 2015-08-18
Packaged: 2018-04-15 09:58:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,810
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4602453
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StarlightOnInk/pseuds/StarlightOnInk
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It is during the magic of the holidays that America and Russia are able to shed their responsibilities and just be Alfred and Ivan. From snowball fights, improvised (one-sided) musical numbers, and an exchange of gifts with more meaning than words can say, memories are both shared and forged. RusAme Secret Santa 2014.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Wintertime Contemplations on the Power of Love on the Occasion of the Holidays

**Author's Note:**

> This was written for the RusAme 2014 Secret Santa on tumblr for theawesomehero! The prompts asked for winter, wings, and nerdiness. I’m…I’m sorry this turned out so long. It got out of hand, but I enjoyed every second of writing it.  
> Pairings: RusAme/AmeRus, side pairings: implied GerIta and AusHun

Alfred woke with a start, tousled hair falling into his eyes as he tried to regain his bearings. All around him, the atmosphere was that of a picturesque winter morning; a glittering blanket of snow covered the yard outside the window, birds chirped merrily in celebration of the sun’s rays catching the sparkle of last night’s flurry, the scent of frost, wood, and a roaring fire from the neighbor’s hearth danced through his nostrils. Alfred blinked sleepily, his eyes trying to adjust to the brightness, only partially appreciating the enjoyable scents and sights of the morning before the very thing that woke him made its presence known once more.

 

A loud snore issued from somewhere behind him, piercing the pleasant wintry atmosphere better than anything else could. Alfred turned with a huff to look over his shoulder. Ivan lay still fast asleep, his own loud snoring apparently failing to wake him; half of his face was pressed against his pillow, beige locks fanning out beneath him as he slept on. An arm was draped across Alfred’s waist, loose and casual before, but it had quickly tightened with all of his fidgeting.

 

“Goddammit, man, you’re gonna wake the neighbors,” Alfred muttered teasingly, his comment falling on deaf ears. It was only then that Alfred realized just how full his bladder was. Amazing, really, how drinking an entire six-pack of Coca-Cola could do that (he had offered Russia some the previous night, but the other nation had instead opted to watching in fascinated shock as bottle after bottle were consumed).

 

With yet another huff that was drowned out by Ivan’s loud snoring, America made to slide clumsily out of bed, only for the arm draped around his waist to tighten. He made to rise once more; the grip strengthened and a thick leg was tossed across his own. From behind him, Alfred heard Ivan give a sleepily grumble of protest, intent on keeping his lover from leaving.

 

“Cute,” Alfred muttered to no one in particular. “But I seriously need to pee, man, so…” With that, he set to carefully prying his way free, Ivan’s incessant snoring replaced by more grunts of displeasure. He put up quite the fight for someone so deeply asleep; America found himself treading a fine line to avoid using too much of his inhuman strength to break free. Eventually, though, he was finally out of bed, though the warm sanctity of that nest of thick quilts and down comforters was sorely missed. Shivering, and slipping into a pair of sky blue slippers, he meandered into the bathroom, at last able to relieve himself. He was just in the middle of washing his hands when yet another loud snore ripped through the air, and America swore that it had rattled the windowpanes.

 

“Holy _crap_ , man, how are you real?” he all but bellowed. In a moment of poor judgment, he seized a nearby glass, filled it to the brim with cold water, marched back into the bedroom, and dumped every drop onto Ivan’s head.

 

It was the Russian’s turn to jolt upright from a deep sleep.

 

“Shto- shto eto? Gdye-” He gazed about, eyes wide, hands darting across the bed, reaching for a handgun that was thousands of miles away. At last, violet searchlights locked onto Alfred. Even half asleep, he looked borderline homicidal, a combination that did not work in his favor.

 

“Vanya?” he tried, taking a step back as his boyfriend moved to the edge of the bed. “E-Eve, can we talk about this?”

 

Ivan’s eyes narrowed; that was his only warning before Russia launched himself off the bed, grabbing America about the waist, and his whole world turned upside down as he was carried into the bathroom. Next thing he knew, he was plopped unceremoniously into the shower, there was a scraping sound of metal-on-metal, and the showerhead sprung to life, spraying icy water down on him.

 

Outside, several birds perched peacefully on a frosty branch took flight as a gut-wrenching screech pierced the winter air. Several loud crashes could be heard from the house, accompanied by swearing in different languages, the sound of water spraying everywhere, and the thumping of running feet. Then, a knock on the door.

 

The visitor, a concerned neighbor with a warm, motherly face, peered at the closed door in mild trepidation as she heard two sets of feet make their way to the foyer. When the door opened, it revealed the two nations, both quite soaked from head to foot, large puddles forming beneath them as everyone stared awkwardly at one another.

 

“I’m sorry to bother you,” she began earnestly, eyes darting between the two agitated men. “But I heard a bunch of crashes just now, and earlier I’m sure I heard a bear- I thought maybe it had gotten into your house! It was making this terrible growling noise.”

 

Alfred’s eyes darted over to Ivan, whose face remained impassive. “Oh yeah, it was a grumpy, sleep-deprived bear,” he drawled, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips even as he shivered in his soaking clothes and the chilly draft drifted in through the open door.

 

“Maybe if it had been allowed to sleep, it would not have been so grumpy,” Ivan hissed right back, not missing a beat. The woman blinked. “Some flighty little bird made a disturbance of its own.”

 

At this, America bristled. “Excuse me, that ‘flighty little bird’ happens to be a majestic eagle! He turned his attention back to his neighbor. “Don’t worry, ma’am, the problem’s been taken care of,” he assured her with a winning smile. “Thanks for coming over.”

 

“Oh, uh, no…problem,” she half-asked. After a beat of awkward silence, she at last stepped back and headed home, America closing the door behind her. He nearly shrieked again when a cold damp hand came to rest on his shoulder.

 

“That big, bad bear came from a completely different time zone,” Ivan reminded Alfred in a silky tone with a smile to match. America in turn draped his own arm across Ivan’s back as the two idled back towards the stairs. Really, America couldn’t quite blame Russia for being so passed out. The past few years, their holiday plans had consisted of them spending the earlier half at America’s home for Alfred’s December Christmas, then in Russia for his celebrations in January. As a result, there was a lot of arrangements to be made and travelling to be done by at least one of them each time. Ivan’s flight had been in the evening; he waited in the airport and boarded his plane when he was usually asleep, only to arrive in America where he needed to set his watch back, his internal clock quite ruined. But still, Alfred had been having quite a good dream when he was so bizarrely interrupted. Even now, after the chaotic start to the morning, he could picture it quite plainly in his mind’s eye…

 

_Vast powerful wings of a rich honey color flexed beside him, stretching from his back to twice the arm span of a grown human. They flapped powerfully, commanding a thick gust of air as he felt his whole world open up. All around him, the other nations were perched on the benches of a kind of auditorium, except instead of a floor, the vast earth lay stretched far beneath them, reduced to a patchwork of forest green and ocean blue._

_Feliciano was sitting beside Ludwig, and as the Italian spoke animatedly to the German, his own auburn wings fluttered in emphasis. Even Gilbert was there; upon catching sight of his brother, he swooped down from his spot higher up, carried on vast wings of purest white. His normally abrasive laughter was muffled, rendering it unable to disturb the ethereal atmosphere. Francis could be found carefully straightening his own sunny yellow feathers, glancing every so often at England, a gentle light sparkling in his blue eyes._

_Content on observing as much of these interactions as possible, America leapt from his seat and took flight, glancing down to see land so very far away, a nonissue, just like gravity…just how things should be. No meetings, no bosses- or, as Ivan would say, “children in their father’s suits playing God.” Up here, there was only a wonderful sense of just_ being _, coupled with having the entirety of the uncharted skies open to explore._

_Hungary was leaning on Austria’s chest, one of his chocolate brown wings spread across her back affectionately. He flew on. Further down, Yao could be seen stretching his own ebony wings, performing neat, clean laps about the stands, the wind sending his long hair to trail behind as an inky curtain. Back over by England, Alfred could hear the Brit telling off Ireland, whose rich mahogany wings had nearly scuffed England about the head as he’d flown by._

_“You’ve grown slow,” said a voice beside him. Alfred turned to see Ivan coasting on large ashen wings beside him, matching his pace exactly._

_“Don’t know what you’re talking about,” Alfred said, that familiar sense of competitive excitement rearing from within. He could always count on Ivan to be there with a challenge whenever he needed. Indeed, no more words passed between them, but as topaz met amethyst, a silent understanding was forged, and without further ado, they took off, racing around the aerial stands in sweeping arcs, the wind blowing their hair about as it whistled through their feathers. Any time one took the lead, the other was right there to steal first. No real destination was set; this makeshift competition was one of their most lighthearted to date, a game more than a race, really. Alfred gave a “whoop!” of victory as he sped ahead. Seconds later, he felt cool fingers lace with his own; the hand grasping his own tightened its grip lovingly. Alfred cast Ivan a sideways glance, hoping to convey many things in the smile he sent him._

_But it was then that a deep rumble sounded. The sky darkened. What was once a bright pleasant afternoon turned a wretched stormy grey, thunder and howling wind roaring in his ears. In the sudden turbulence, Alfred felt his grip slipping from Russia. He turned just in time to see his companion be tugged harshly through the air, violet eyes wide. America tried fruitlessly to make his way back to him, but another blast of thunder shook the very air they flew through-_

 

And America had woken up to find both himself and Russia safe on solid ground, the only ruckus coming from his bedmate.

 

So, maybe that had been what was going through his mind when he decided to return the favor of a rude awakening. Regardless, in an attempt to get back into Russia’s good graces, Alfred suggested they take a nice hot shower to warm back up, then they could proceed with the day he had planned. Indeed, after finally warming back up, Russia seemed quite placated as they made their way back outside, both far more appropriately dressed for the crisp winter air than before, with naught but their bedclothes for protection.

 

“Hey, Ivan?” America asked, heading not to his car but to the middle of his front lawn.

 

“Yes, Fedya?” Ivan humored, an eyebrow raised. He had been under the impression they would be spending the day in the city seeing the decorations.

 

Alfred scooped up some snow in his hands. “Do you want to build a snowman?”

 

“Oh no,” Russia groaned, immediately turning on heel and heading for the car.

 

“Wait, wait, it doesn’t have to be a snowman!” Alfred hollered, grinning, running after his fleeing companion. He grabbed hold of Russia about the shoulders, tugging him back to the yard. Ivan, meanwhile, kept his face buried in a glove-clad hand. “I’m right out here for you, we only have each other- it’s just you and me, so what are we gonna do?”

 

“Alfred,” came the muffled groan. “Please. I need to show you more of my shows and movies, so when I make references you can understand them.”

 

“Yeah, yeah,” Alfred replied, waving one hand through the air distractedly as his other kept a firm grip on Russia’s arm. “But first, snowmen!”

 

“We _just finished_ getting ready to go into the city!” Ivan pointed out exasperatedly, trying only halfheartedly to break free.

 

“It’s fine,” America reasoned confidently. “We hang out in the snow for a bit, then jump into the car in time for lunch in New York, see some sights during the day, then have a nice dinner and see the tree all lit up. I’ve got it all planed- _with_ room for a little improv!” The snow crunched under their boots as they meandered through the thick blanket of frost.

 

Just then, Russia stopped dead. America, who had been tugging insistently to get him to keep moving, lost balance at the sudden lack of resistance; the result was that he ended up face-planting into the snow, which immediately began melting down the collar of his shirt and pants.

 

“Khorosho,” Ivan muttered, looking thoughtful. A sly smile had spread across his face, unseen by his shivering boyfriend. “If you planned this so well for unexpected additions, then I will take advantage of that. We have your little play session in the snow, and I get to pick something we do.”

 

“Mmmffmmmffmmf, mmf,” came the incoherent reply, stifled by a thick mouthful of snow. Those who had been around Alfred enough to understand what he was saying when shoving an entire burger and fries combo into his mouth at once were also able to translate his last statement to mean “whatever, dude.” Then, he began moving his arms and legs, his chilled limbs slicing cleanly through the snow in a strange kind of jumping jacks routine.

 

“What are you doing now, _solntse_?” Ivan asked, observing this behavior with amused curiosity.

 

America paused in his actions, raising his head to reply, “Snow angels! Might as well while I’m down here. Come over and make one too!”

 

Ivan chuckled, shaking his head, but complied, gauging carefully where to lay. He shivered slightly as some snow snuck between his scarf and shirt collar, but otherwise felt quite at ease as he moved his arms and legs in an imitation of America. He felt their hands bump, and as he did so, America rose, glancing down at their creations.

 

“Hey, mind your space, buddy,” he chortled, standing fully as Russia did the same. They peered at the snow angels, one slightly larger than the other, so close they seemed to form one larger being.

 

“They’re holding hands,” Ivan said serenely, smiling down at what they had done.

 

Alfred blinked, then returned the smile. “Heh, does look like it, huh? Those are wings, though.”

 

Ivan cast him a look that said quite plainly he did not think a several-centuries-year-old man who tried to charm him with musical numbers had a right to discuss particulars regarding snow angels. Alfred shrugged in a _alright, fair enough_ sort of way, having received a similar look from Russia in the past for varying reasons.

 

Speaking of… “Hey, what was that other thing you wanted to schedule in?”

 

Ivan’s smile remained on his face, though something in it had changed.

 

“Snowmen first!” Alfred interjected quickly.

 

Russia’s smile dropped. “Is this really just because of that movie?” he wondered aloud.

 

“Aaaw, are you jealous? Thinking I like it more than you? I figured you’d like it, you look so much like that one guy already.”

 

“That thought actually never crossed my mind…”

 

Alfred grinned, standing closer so he could wrap his arms around Russia’s broad frame. “You’re cuter than Kristoff anyway,” he mumbled, his warm breath caressing the side of Ivan’s face. At this, Ivan snorted lightly, turning away and failing to hide the pleased smile and light dusting of pink spreading across his face that was not related to the cold.

 

“Alright, we’ll build your snowmen. Then we do my addition to the schedule.” They shook hands, Alfred savoring the small smile tugging at Russia’s mouth.

 

It started out as just making misshapen, anonymous no ones, but somehow transformed into making snow likenesses of Francis and Arthur. Both were laughing heartily by the time they were fully committed to the process. Russia broke a handful of twigs and used them for Arthur’s eyebrows (“Almost looks like an improvement,” Alfred commented), while America gathered long strands of straw from his tool shed and draped them over Snow France’s head in imitation of golden locks (“He should change his hair products,” Russia mused).

 

One top hat and artificial rose later, and their creations were complete. Ivan and Alfred stood back to admire their handiwork, both soaked through with snow, both shivering and with numb fingers, both _quite_ entertained by what they had done.

 

“Oi, I’m England! Wot’s the matter wif you, stupid frog!” Alfred said in a ludicrous imitation of his former caregiver.

 

“ _Je t’aime, mon amour, mon cher, mon soleil_ ,” Ivan muttered passionately, his extensive French lessons from Peter the Great’s time kicking in.

 

They glanced at each other from the corner of their eyes, then promptly doubled over with mirth. The incessant winter chill went completely ignored as they were enveloped in a warmth no breeze could permeate, a warmth that went deeper than skin, down to the very soul.

 

Wiping at the corner of his eye with a gloved finger, Alfred dared to voice some of what he was feeling. “Man, I’m glad this day turned around a bit.”

 

“What do you mean?” Ivan asked, the laughter still not entirely gone from his features. It was a nice look for him, Alfred decided not for the first time. And it certainly wouldn’t be the last.

 

He shrugged, a sudden wave of bashfulness creeping its way into his stomach. “Just…I just want everything to go down without a hitch. Especially when you’re over. How often do we get to do this?”

 

Russia peered curiously over at him, amethyst eyes searching, seeming to penetrate so deep Alfred felt himself shift restlessly in the snow, averting his gaze. Russia’s smile had softened to something more tender, more intimate, and he held out a gloved hand which Alfred took mutely. Lacing their fingers snugly together, Ivan pulled Alfred close to his chest, wrapping both arms around him and effectively securing him to the spot. Alfred let out a deep sigh and leaned into that strong chest, feeling the beating of his heart even through the layers. “Why on earth would I not enjoy all this?” Ivan asked softly.

 

“Eh…” Alfred hedged, resuming his restless shifting. “Idumpedaglassofwateronyou-”

 

He was silenced by a finger over his lips, followed abruptly by a kiss. “You are silly sometimes,” Ivan mused fondly, flicking at his stubborn cowlick. “And I know just what you need right now.”

 

About thirty minutes later, America was whooping loudly, the wind whipping through his hair, his yells of excitement punctuated by the sound of plastic scraping against pavement. He was currently seated on (and holding on to dear life) a large sled secured by a long thick rope to the back of his car, currently being driven by Ivan. They were in a spacious empty parking lot, Ivan driving the car well past highway speed limits, swerving in great arcs as he dragged Alfred’s makeshift sleigh behind him. His dream from the previous night had been positively exhilarating, but there was no beating the very real feeling of zipping through the air at breakneck speeds, unbound and unchallenged by any laws of the physical world.

 

They had been doing this for about ten minutes when Alfred bellowed over the scraping that he was ready to stop. For a gut-dropping moment, Alfred feared Russia was simply going to slam on the breaks (though, thinking back on it, as long as he could steer clear of the car, that _could_ have been quite awesome). Fortunately, though, Ivan chose to slowly decelerate, letting the momentum die down so that when he finally did break, Alfred was not sent flying.

 

Alfred was grinning from ear to ear. “Where the _heck_ did you come up with that?” he asked, running up to Russia and mussing up his hair.

 

Ivan rolled his eyes, fixed his hair, and smiled knowingly. “Actually, some of us did it back home,” he explained.

 

Alfred gave a long impressed whistle. “Alright, you guys definitely do know how to party.”

 

“ _Da, konechna_. And I assume you will, once again, be taking full advantage of that when we go there?”

 

“You bet your borsch I will.”

 

“Was that supposed to be witty?”

 

“I know, it’s amazing, I don’t even have to try.”

 

It was always a weird jolt to Alfred’s gut when he could purchase alcohol more readily abroad than in his own home country where, as for as his citizens knew, he was nineteen.

 

_Thwack_.

 

America received a face full of snow for his momentary lethargy. “If we plan on making it to the city _today_ , we should leave now,” Russia said evenly, gesturing toward the car.

 

“Oh, yeah, right,” Alfred chuckled, casually wiping the snow from his face-

 

“Think fast!”

 

In one fell swoop, he scooped up some snow, packed it into a makeshift snowball, and whipped it at Russia. A good portion deteriorated in the air before it even reached its target, but it was enough to spray him with a dusting of white. Ivan, in turn, swiped at his shoulders and face. “Alfred, no, we are _not_ having a snowball fight in the middle of some parking l-”

 

This time, some snow managed to make it into his mouth. He spat it out, mildly disgusted. “Do you know what has been on th-”

 

_Thwack_!

 

“You snooze, you lose, Vanya!” America teased. “Looks like I’ll be king of the snow this time!”

 

Well, that did it. Turn something into a contest, particularly in areas either of them professed to be masters of, and things became remarkably personal. Unfortunately for Alfred, what he had started with the intention of engaging in some lighthearted snowball fight, Ivan was already strategizing with the level of detail better suited to breaking into a bank. He dove behind the car, facing the enemy, all the while assembling his arsenal.

 

Alfred whipped some more snowballs at the car, sending some over the roof, hoping to hit his target. The only sound coming from behind the metal barrier was a mild scraping and crunching noise. Then, silence.

 

“Vanya…?” He took a hesitant step forward, one hand raised, ready to throw yet another snowball if need be.

 

Then, his opponent rose. America was met with a barrage of snow, all hitting him on the torso or head, powerful enough to knock his glasses askew. He tried feebly to throw some in retaliation, but the oncoming salvo was like a small avalanche. He doubled over, abandoning all attempts at retaliation, opting instead to shield his face with his arms.

 

“Alright! Alright! Peace, peace! Uuuh, _mir_!” All firing ceased immediately. A hand entered his line of sight, framed between his arms still raised defensively around his head. He took it and was promptly helped to his feet and dusted gently off. Strong calloused hands that had hurled snowy missiles just seconds ago were now carefully and lovingly caressing him, straightening his coat and brushing snow from his hair. He leaned instinctively into the touch, rewarded by a tender kiss on the crown of his head. “Alright, so, maybe I’m not the king of the snow,” he admitted, smirking.

 

“Not any time soon, _dorogoi_.”

 

“Hmph.”

 

With an exaggerated shrug, he walked over to the driver’s side of the car. “We’ll just head back and switch into the other car, then head into the city. We can still catch a late lunch.”

 

Russia paused, his hand on the car door handle. “What on earth is wrong with this one?” he asked, brow knit in confusion.

 

Alfred gave him a look that told him the answer should have been obvious. “This isn’t the stylish kind of car you go into the city with, man! I have a ride _way_ hotter than this- this one’s just for local unimportant stuff.”

 

Ivan rolled his eyes. “There is nothing wrong with driving in with this. We are not switching into your tiny sports car.”

 

“Hey, you still have that tiny Lada-whatever-it’s-called, and I’ve _seen_ how cramped you are in that,” America retorted, sliding into the driving seat. “And anyway, I only took this one cause you were driving. I don’t mind if this gets beat up.”

 

“Ah, this conversation again,” Ivan muttered, settling into his seat as well. “I told you many times, not all of my people drive like how you see on the dash cams.”

 

“Yeah, true, but I know _you do_ ,” Alfred countered, blasting the heat and pulling out of the empty lot. A second later and the radio was on, filling the car with the sound of festive holiday music. America hummed along with it, fingers strumming against the steering wheel as he glanced at the clock and silently relented that yes, it would be more prudent to just head into the city in the current car. Though he said nothing about it, Russia took note of the direction they were heading and smiled inwardly: right again. He chose not to press the matter, however; there was a time to poke at Alfred’s decision-making and give a hardy _I told you so_ , and right now wasn’t that time. It had taken the better part of over a century, but Ivan was able to tell appropriate times for a bit of gloating to America. Sometimes, of course, he chose to throw all caution to the winds and ignore this hard-earned knowledge, because it really did feel quite refreshing telling Alfred he was right- and it felt even better when Alfred had to be honest and agree.

 

 

 

The city was an urban center of concentrated holiday cheer. Shops were decorated to the nines promoting goods for all members of the family, all framed among fluffy strips of fake snow, bountiful garland, and oversized Christmas tree ornaments. Carols issued through every store, leaking out onto the street when, with a musical tinkle, a front door was opened, or else from the shoppers themselves- or, the ones who were not too busy rushing about in search of that particular item on their loved one’s wish list that seemed to be sold out everywhere. Scarves muffled the voices of city-dwellers as they bowed their heads against the occasional breeze which tugged at their hair, hats, and coats alike. Abundant colorful paper bags weighed down consumers as they stocked up on holiday wares. All in all, it was a sight befitting such a city as New York. Though, experience told Ivan to avoid grabbing onto handrails if it could be avoided- here as well as pretty much any city- for it seemed a popular place to deposit gum.

 

By the time they arrived, a light snow flurry had begun, sprinkling the streets and the people treading across it with a fine powder. Heavily bundled, the two did little more than shiver slightly against the frosty air. Strolling so close their arms were constantly brushing against each other, Ivan and Alfred made short work of finding a cozy little restaurant to have a late lunch in, sipping hot coffee and enjoying their meals in between equally warm chatter. Alfred had reached that giddy stage of excitement where his desire to give his present outweighed his desire to receive one. He had it tucked safely in his back closet, away from even Ivan’s thorough, prying eyes.

 

Their stomachs full, a warm buzz settled over both of them as they linked hands under the table. Alfred tried on paying for everything, but Ivan would have none of it. Ignoring Alfred’s protests, he pulled out his wallet and began doling out the cash for the bill- and tip. It was only by rising from his seat and quietly threatening to start a scene that Ivan relented and let Alfred at least cover the tip.

 

“You can be so stubborn,” Russia muttered once they were both back outside, the sky darkening fast from the snow.

 

“Funny, I could- and usually do- say the same about you, man,” he pointed out with a smirk. With an attempt at casualness that did not go unnoticed by America, Russia draped one end of his scarf around Alfred. “Thanks,” he added, appreciating the intimacy of such an action better than any of the passersby. Russia refused to catch his eye, but a small nod and tender smile gave him away.

 

They passed countless shops, all- it seemed- theming their entire stock around the holidays. Clothes stores showcased warm thick sweaters with snowflakes or fir trees; pet stores offered little holiday outfits for cats and dogs; game shops promoted special holiday sales. They ended up taking advantage of this deal as Alfred spied a new title he had forgotten to buy beforehand, and really, the price was too good to turn down.

 

“I’m sure it was,” Ivan humored him dryly, having ended up being the one assigned the duty of carrying the packages, Alfred having become too animated, talking with his hands, waving this way and that as he pointed out each store and their specialty, or gestured to streets and explained where they got their names. Ivan had received similar lessons during his past visits and found he couldn’t mind them at all; for nations, one of the greatest flatteries another could offer was genuine interest in their history and culture. To an outsider, Alfred’s bubbly excitement may have been purely due to the annual holiday high, but Russia knew enough to sense a deeper joy felt only by sharing such an important part of himself.

 

“What are you smiling at?”

 

Russia blinked, realizing too late that America had stopped talking and noticed his prolonged stare. He shook his head. “Just you,” he answered honestly, hoping to reflect some of his own thoughts in the simple reply and the look that accompanied it.

 

Alfred just shook his head, no small amount of fondness playing across his face. “You can get so sappy sometimes.”

 

“Funny,” Russia echoed, his smile turning more humorous. “I could- and usually do- say the same about you. Man,” he added as an afterthought, at which point Alfred burst out laughing, sapphire eyes crinkled at the corners as pearly white teeth peeked between his lips. Ivan, not for the first time, felt he quite liked that look for Alfred; carelessly joyful, laughing with abandon.

 

“Oh my gosh, that was pretty good,” he chuckled, swiping at his eyes with a gloved hand. “See? You _can_ be funny if you really tr- crap!” Alfred felt his foot slide beneath him as the pavement came careening towards him-

 

A strong arm caught him around the waist, holding him at an absurd angle as his glasses dropped dangerously low down his nose, as though itching to dive right off his face. “Phew,” he sighed, trying in vain to relax his muscles, his momentary adrenaline rush leaving him shaking. “Thanks, Vanya,” he added, and it was his turn to feign a casual air, though in truth such a sensation of falling was one of the worst in Alfred’s book. The very idea of having no control over himself was enough to leave him feeling ill. He gulped shakily.

 

“Are you alright?” Ivan asked, hands roving up and down checking for any injury.

 

Alfred waved a hand airily, privately enjoying the attention. “Yeah, thanks, man. No harm done- thanks to you.”

 

“I think perhaps we should find somewhere to sit for a bit?” Ivan suggested, noting the slushy streets.

 

“Yeah, that sounds good. My feet could use a break anyway.”

 

So, with a bit more trekking and two more near-misses, they found themselves strolling through a mall as decked out for the holidays as any enthusiastic home owner would aspire to. Large Christmas trees were spotted across the first floor while up above oversized ornaments glittered from the ceiling, the light sending their myriad of colors dancing across the walls and floors. A sitting area by a small indoor fountain provided their feet with a nice reprieve in addition to pleasant ambience.

 

“Enjoying yourself?” Alfred asked, internally craving and dreading the answer.

 

Ivan smiled serenely. “As always, _dorogoi_.”

 

Alfred let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding, tension leaving his shoulders. “Good,” he breathed. Ivan’s hand was draped casually on the seat of the bench; America moved his own over to cover Russia’s, or cover it as well as he could. He felt Ivan shift closer to him in response.

 

“Can’t let my guest have a miserable time,” he said, stifling a yawn. The atmosphere was so relaxing…

 

“Oh, so, that was what the water was for this morning!” Ivan exclaimed as though all his questions had been answered.

 

Alfred hoped his cheeks didn’t look as red as they felt as a twinge pierced through his stomach. “I’m _sorry_ ,” he said imploringly. “Really, really, super, mucho, very sorry a lot! It was a stupid thing, I just wasn’t thinking-”

 

“Nothing new,” Russia murmured, smirking.

 

“Hey!” Alfred squawked in protest, removing his hand so he could ball it into a fist and bump Ivan’s arm. Nevertheless, his hand returned almost immediately to its spot over Russia’s hand, their fingers laced. “Jerk. Never mind, I’m not sorry, I’m doing it again tomorrow morning.”

 

“Then you must have enjoyed having the cold shower water turned on you,” Russia reasoned innocently.

 

Alfred shivered at the memory. “Touché.”

 

“As enjoyable as it is to hear you admit to your habit of not thinking-” this earned him another smack on the arm- “I have known you long enough to know when you do something because you were not thinking, and when you do something _because_ you were thinking. Do I get to really hear why?”

 

Alfred opened his mouth, then closed it, searching for words. After everything else today, his dream seemed like a distant memory, faded with neglect, as dreams so often become even with constant scrutiny upon waking. Even beneath the dust of daily distractions, though, Alfred found himself able to treasure the sights and senses his dream had brought him, encasing it like the treasure it was.

 

“It was a…really good dream,” he mumbled at least.

 

“Oh?” Pale eyebrows rose, asking him to elaborate, and America knew he could proceed at least for now without fear of mockery. And so he recounted what he could of his nighttime vision, the wavering in his voice being shed in favor of confidence as his enthusiasm shone through. Russia was listening with earnest interest, violet eyes drinking in his many expressions and obvious enjoyment, nodding when appropriate, and letting his face reflect his own enjoyment. By the end of his tale, both nations were smiling, one contentedly, the other boisterously.

 

“I would not mind that dream coming true,” Russia admitted, thumb running soothing circles into the top of America’s hand.

 

“Me neither,” Alfred agreed, stretching his back. “Well, the thunderstorm part was pretty real- I was sleeping right next to it,” he added teasingly, poking Ivan’s large nose with a grin.

 

Quick as a flash Ivan’s free hand closed around said finger, refusing to relinquish it even as Alfred tugged gently. “Some of us have had our sleep schedule turned upside down. You are lucky I am even awake,” he said smoothly, an amethyst flame flickering in his eyes.

 

America shrugged innocently. “Happens every year. I’ll be feeling it in a bit when we head to your place.”

 

“Speaking of ‘every year,’” Ivan piped in suddenly, rising to his feet. “Come,” he added, tugging on Alfred’s hand until he too got up, his legs voicing mild protests at having to work again so soon. “You have mentioned wanting to do this every year and we have not yet.” He led Alfred over towards a clothing store.

 

“MATCHING UGLY SWEATERS!” America bellowed to the mall at large as he and his boyfriend emerged wearing identical lurid festive sweaters, complete with clashing colors, excessive holiday patterns, tasteless glitter, and to top it all off, _lights_. Many people’s heads swiveled in their direction at the sound of America’s shout, hands flying to mouths to hide their giggles as the taller of the two men burrowed the lower part of his face into his scarf, shaking his head. Those closer, though, could also see the Russian’s shoulders shaking in mirth as his eyes darted over to his excited boyfriend.

 

Still wearing their sweaters, the two stepped out into the chilly city air, wind biting at their exposed faces. Ivan once again draped part of his scarf over Alfred’s shoulder, who wrapped it around his neck and snuggled his lower face into the fabric gratefully. By the time they left the mall, the sun had vanished behind a skyline of steel and glass. The sight that greeted them, therefore, was one of equal delight and renewed beauty, as the streetlights cast a warm glow on the pedestrians. Their trek over to Rockefeller Center felt like it lasted only between their combined excitement and the speed at which they travelled. The tree was a beacon of nature’s magnificence nestled amidst artificial towers of silver. The two wasted no time in clambering into ice skates and sliding gracefully onto the rink. Though it was a hassle to make sure they weren’t about to crash into any civilians, the atmosphere at that point had turned completely magical for them. America was able to keep his clumsiness on the ice at bay enough to grasp Ivan’s hand firmly in his own, their paces matching as they slid in neat arcs over the smooth surface. Alternating his focus between in front and beside, Alfred drank in the image of Ivan looking quite serene, the holiday lights around them framing his face like a halo, or else catching in his hair and making it shimmer. As Ivan indulged in a long glance of his own at Alfred, he caught America staring and quickly averted his gaze, never one to fully understand Alfred’s praise. Guiding them off to the side of the rink, Ivan skidded to a halt with Alfred beside him.

 

“ _Spasibo_ for another wonderful time, _lyubov_ ,” he murmured in earnest, grasping Alfred’s hands in his own. America grinned, cheeks heating up.

 

“Back at ya, buddy,” he answered. “Selfie time!” he exclaimed, twisting so he was next to Russia, aiming his cell phone, and taking a picture. The final result showed the two of them smiling warmly with lights from the tree visible behind them. America nodded in approval, turning back to Ivan as he pocketed his phone. Then, steeling himself, he leaned shakily up and placed a peck on Ivan’s lips. Without missing a beat, Ivan leaned down and returned the kiss with fervor, their slightly chapped lips molding perfectly, pressing together in smooth, languid motions. With no small amount of reluctance, Alfred broke away with a chuckle. “Not a bad early Christmas present,” he admitted, smiling cheekily.

 

“I thought you would not object,” Russia said before leaning down and kissing him again.

 

 

 

America’s Christmas came with great excitement; Ivan was woken up by the feeling of the mattress rising and dipping as the other bounced excitedly on it in between chants of “Wake up! Wake up! It’s Christmas!” With a yawn and stretch, Ivan clambered out of bed, following his boyfriend downstairs. America practically shoved his present into his face as he padded leisurely into the den. Passing America his present with far more grace, he poked a finger beneath the folds of the somewhat clumsily wrapped flat package he himself had been handed. Tearing through it, Ivan found a large, thick photo album with a rich green cover. But that wasn’t all; pictures had already been placed inside it, all pictures from his and America’s many meet-ups and dates. There was a picture of them at the Louvre, standing outside one of France’s most magnificent buildings. Then there was the picture of them at Ivan’s dacha, just after the spring thaw had set everything into bloom and the vegetation was flourishing beyond compare. Even, on one of the first pages, was a picture from when his Grand Duke had toured the US so long ago, each city he went to throwing a magnificent party, everyone celebrating the relations between the Russian Empire and United states that became an alliance in everything but name, while the two embodiments of the nations so deeply involved in those events laughed heartily off to the side at a private joke neither could quite remember today. Several pages in was the last photo before the rest was just empty slots: the picture America had so hastily taken last night at Rockefeller. Russia was stunned into overjoyed silence, unable to stay on one page for too long, yearning to take in each and every memory at once. Next to him, America had stopped halfway through unwrapping his own gift in favor of watching Ivan’s reaction carefully, correctly reading the joyful expression playing across his features.

 

“Like it?” he asked at last. His answer was a bear hug that left him breathless. Laughing, he rubbed Ivan’s back warmly, choking out “G-glad to hear it, big guy.” He had known Ivan long enough- from their friendship during his days as an Empire, through when studying Russia practically became a daily routine during the Cold War- to know how susceptible he could be to taciturnity and general glumness at the prospect of being alone. He figured, with this gift, he could maybe get through such periods with all of those fun memories.

 

“Ah, now you see yours,” Russia cut in, a slight hesitance brought out as he suddenly found himself concerned with how much America would enjoy his present. Grinning, Alfred finished ripping through the paper. Opening the large square box, he found a handsome gold watch ticking merrily away, its large face polished so it was practically a mirror, reflecting the cozy scene around them. The hands were long and elegant; the numbers glinted in the light spilling in through the open window.

 

“Wow,” America breathed, carefully lifting the watch from its nest.

 

“When she ruled, Yekaterina Velikaya- Catherine the Great- provided finances for watch companies, working closely with Voltaire- I kept some of them. This is one of them,” he explained. It was his turn to watch in mild trepidation.

 

“Wow, man, I- seriously?” America asked, running the tips of his fingers over the smooth band. “This is something else.” He tore his blue gaze from the watch to stare at his boyfriend, a huge grin nearly splitting his face in two. “Come here!” he said, launching himself over and wrapping Ivan in a tight embrace. He felt Russia relax as he returned the hug, thankful his gift went over so well. With a newfound slow tenderness absent in their previous hugs, the two leaned forward and exchanged a kiss.

 

“Merry Christmas,” they said in unison, chuckling all the while.

 

 

 

Fortunately for Ivan, Alfred’s surprises did not quite end there. December 30th, Ivan’s sound sleep met another untimely end, this time to the gentle strums of a guitar. Rising from his bed- they were both now in his Moscow apartment- and blinking the sleep from his eyes, he was about to ask Alfred what on earth he was doing when said American opened his mouth and, in a quavering voice, began to sing.

 

“ _Poost begoot neukluzhe_

_Peshehodih pa luzham_

_A voda- pa asfaltu rekoi.._.”

 

Russia sat in stunned silence, violet eyes widened to comic proportions, unable to believe the sight he was seeing. Alfred, positively red in the face, kept his eyes glued to the bedspread as he played on, faltering over the foreign words and, truthfully, messing up pronunciations, but getting enough right for the meaning to be understood. He refused to raise his eyes, unable to look Ivan in the face as he tried to numb himself to what he was doing.

 

“ _Ya igrayu na garmoshke_

_Oo prohozhih na vidu…_ ”

 

As Ivan slowly began to understand that what he was seeing was indeed real, a smile tugged at his lips, spreading across his face so his cheeks hurt and his heart swelled with the sheer weight of it and the joy it implied.

 

“ _K sozhalenyu, den rozhdenya_

_Tolka raz v godu_.”

 

The end could not have come fast enough for Alfred who strummed the last note as one takes great gulps of water after running a marathon. With no small amount of reluctance Alfred forced himself to look up at Ivan, at that massive face-splitting grin that seemed to have become quite permanent. Alfred felt the heat in his cheeks blossom to the tips of his ears. With a shaky laugh, he said with a half-shrug, “You said you wanted me to see more of your shows so I’d get more references you made, so…” He gave a weak wave of his free hand, the other still supporting his guitar. For the second time in five days Alfred found himself being dragged like a ragdoll into a rib-cracking bear hug. He could even feel that grin as Ivan embraced him, pressed against his shoulder and accompanied by a breathy chuckle in his ear that made the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end.

 

“No problem, Vanya,” he wheezed, savoring that wonderful smile that _he had caused_. For how embarrassing the whole thing was, for how hard it was memorizing lyrics he didn’t understand with so many consonants right next to each other, he’d memorize an entire speech for a glimpse at that smile again.

 

“Happy Birthday,” he whispered, letting go of his guitar to wrap his arms around Ivan, pecking his cheek.

 

Outside the apartment window, Moscow looked as if it had been built to star in a Christmas card, the vibrant colors in the elaborate architecture coupled with the snow blanketing rooftops, sidewalks, benches, cars and more giving the impression of being in a winter wonderland. Inside the GUM department store, holiday ornaments decorated the stores and sat waiting to be purchased, offered by employees dressed as Snegurochka, the Snow Maiden. Outside, patrons eagerly headed onto the large ice rink, recently smoothed for a new day of winter enjoyment. But it was indoors that the wonders of the holiday season could be observed in a less tangible form, as Russia and America were able to just be Ivan and Alfred, planning their next day of seasonal merriments, or else conceding to let fate guide them as it would into their next happy adventure.

 

THE END

**Author's Note:**

> Phew! That grew from how I planned on making it! But I really hope that the prompts were met okay! Eternal thanks to my beta-reader who not only checked that everything made sense and was grammatically correct but offered ideas on directions to take this.
> 
> Dorogoi: darling, dear (I’ve also read it has no full English equivalent, but these are the basic idea)  
> Solntse: sunshine  
> Mir: peace (also means world)  
> Je t’aime, mon amour, mon cher, mon soleil: I love you, my love, my darling, my sun
> 
> The song America sings at the end is the Crocodile Gena birthday song from a Soviet cartoon, which from what I’ve seen has become the popular birthday song to sing in Russia. Along with comical notions of getting ice-cream from a wizard in a helicopter, the song also brings light to the fact that this special occasion, so enjoyed by whoever’s birthday it is, only comes once a year. Crocodile Gena works at a zoo as a…plot twist…crocodile! And is best friends with Cheburashka, another staple of Soviet television. A dacha is a seasonal getaway house. The title is derived from Mikhail Lomonsov’s piece, Evening Meditation on the Majesty of God on the Occasion of the Great Northern Lights. The “do you want to build a snowman…” is a reference to Frozen, because you KNOW Alfred has every line memorized and later insisted on a complete reenactment of that whole musical number. If there’s anything that needs improving or fixing, I’d love to hear it! Thank you for reading, and thank you to theawesomehero for the lovely prompts.


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